Meeting at Sunset
by LedaAndtheSwan
Summary: Brooding, atmospheric.  John Watson meets Sherlock for the first time  and is captivated.


Title: **Meeting at Sunset**

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: All characters and the show belong to Conan Doyle and the BBC.

Nightfall was fast approaching, as I made my way onto Milford Green. The ground was damp underfoot and the pungent smell of decayed leaves hung in the air. As I approached the southern boundary, I was struck by the sudden appearance of a man. His height, I judged to be in excess of six feet and his bearing regal. The latter being enhanced by the dark frock coat that came almost to his knees. Upon turning, he glanced up at me. It was then I became transfixed. His eyes drew me to his face and I could not look away. So intense was his gaze, that it were if his mind was piercing the depths of my soul. But it was when he spoke, that I knew I was in the presence of a superior being. It was the voice that turned me to stone.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes and you, I presume, are John Watson. Dr Stamford has told me much about you."

"That is correct." I replied.

"And I have also been informed that you are an ex military man, recently returned from Afghanistan and judging by your gait, were wounded in service."

"That is also correct," I replied, marvelling at his perception.

He looked at me and again I experienced the same internal tremor. It was as if the veil of the mind had been lifted and there were no secrets between us. Nothing I could hide from him and his eyes.

"I'm afraid I must be getting back," I said, after what seemed an age. "It's getting dark, I don't want to be late home."

His next words were profoundly unsettling. "I live in lodgings not far from here, why not come with me."

To be accepting an invitation such as this, seemed to run against all rational thought.

Again he implored me. "My flat is but within ten minutes. It is warm, well furnished and I have a spare room…"

Without knowing why, as if I was compelled by some unseen force, I felt myself nodding. "Yes, I'll come."

His gaze intensified, the eyes never leaving my face. "Good," he replied.

And with that, I picked up my bags and followed Sherlock into the deepening twilight.

Upon arrival I felt a faint sense of trepidation. It was not unlike that of wartime, only now, it was different. There was a strange, unearthly quality about Sherlock that I couldn't fathom. He seemed to belong to another age altogether.

"Mrs Hudson, we have a guest." Sherlock's dulcet tones snapped me abruptly out of my reverie. "This is Dr Watson, please make up the spare room."

Aware of the awkwardness of my situation, I made a quick bow and followed Sherlock into the sitting room. It was not, what I had expected. Although comfortably furnished, the quarters had a dingy, almost melancholic feel. Most disturbingly, I could smell death. My doctor's brain, acquainted with the smell of rotting flesh, had preserved a memory that endures, even after years of active service.

I turned to him sharply and spoke. "I'm afraid I have to go, there's been a mistake."

He must have sensed the terror in my voice. "What are you afraid of doctor? Why this sudden change of heart?"

"It's the smell," I confessed. "What is it?"

Sherlock's reaction both surprised and annoyed me. A flicker of a smile crossed his face which then turned to laughter. "Here, let me show you," he said, steering me towards the kitchen.

There on the servery, surrounded by crockery, cutlery and various utensils, lay a severed human hand. The desire in me to run was stifled by the thought of appearing foolish in front of my host. I was, after all, a doctor and in the course of my professional career had met with sights more gruesome than this. But it was the apparent incongruity that struck me. Here in this modest, spartan kitchen, was a hand.

I turned to Sherlock with a look of horrified fascination. With an incredible lack of emotion, he replied: "It's part of an experiment I'm doing. Investigating blood clotting after death."

"But surely," I replied, "this is you home, there is a time an a place for such experiments, as you call them."

He gazed at me and a look of bold superiority swept his countenance. "My life and my work are one and the same. To separate them would be impossible."

"I see," I replied, desperately trying to back out.

"You don't have to stay, of course. There are other lodgings."

I hesitated, toying with the prospect. But again, the same ineffable force overcame me and I was powerless to resist. "Yes, I'll stay."

"Good," he replied. "That is exactly how I knew you'd respond."

Our eyes met across the table, his locked into mine searching their depths. And it was as if in that moment, our two souls had become joined, bound by an unshakeable bond that would never be broken.


End file.
